A Dance of Desire
by Mindy35
Summary: Jack/Liz. Post-ep for "Queen of Jordan". Jack enlists Liz to help him prepare for his dance-off.


Title: A Dance of Desire

Author: Mindy35

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.

Pairing: Jack/Liz

Spoilers: "Queen of Jordan".

Summary: Post-ep. Jack enlists Liz to help prepare for his dance-off.

-x-x-x-

Liz poked her head round the door. "You wanted to see me?"

Jack waved her in. "Yes, Lemon, please come in and shut the door."

"Wow…" she mused, wandering into his office and surveying the pushed back furniture and the instructional video playing above the fireplace. "What's going on in here?"

"I am preparing for my epic dance-off with D'Fwan," Jack told her, jacket off and tie loose.

She nodded. "I see."

"We are each preparing three selections to showcase our talents before the freestyle portion of the competition," he added, rolling up his sleeves. "So I have been working on some truly buck moves with Grizz."

Liz quirked a brow. "Buck? Really? Wait-" She cocked her head. "Grizz can dance?"

"Oh yes. Better than Tracy, in fact."

"Which is why he only does it when Tracy's _not_ around?"

"Precisely," Jack smiled. "My second selection is a very classy soft shoe shuffle routine, choreographed by Jenna."

Liz wagged her head back and forth. "Oh boy, I would pay good money to see that happen."

"You won't have to. The dance-off will be happening tonight in your studio."

"Of course it will."

"And for my final selection, I have saved the best for last. With my last dance, I will not just be proving my spectacular dancing ability, I will be simultaneously demonstrating my innate grace and athleticism as well as my obvious and potent heterosexuality."

"So…the Macarena then?"

Jack ignored her, gesturing to the TV screen where two overly sleek figures with limbs entwined were writhing to a deliberate, sexy pulse. "I will be performing a very hot, very sensual Rumba. The most hetero of all dances."

Liz pointed to the male dancer with his tight slacks and slicked back hair. "Actually, I think that dude is gayer than an entire troupe of dancing D'Fwans. In sequins. And Chihuahua chokers. And-"

"Now, naturally," Jack went on, heading toward her, "for the actual event I will be utilizing the services of a professionally trained and stunningly beautiful partner. But in the meantime, I need to rehearse. Which is why I require," he held out a hand to her, "your help."

Liz looked at the outstretched hand, then at him, eyes wide. "What? No- I don't dance, I can't dance."

"You dance all the time," he pointed out. "Any chance you get."

"But not _well_," she insisted vehemently.

"True. But you must have some natural ability. You attended College on a partial dance scholarship, if I recall."

"Sure, but…I can't dance…" she cast a glance at the woman on screen, slinking her way around her partner in ridiculously high heels, "like _that_."

"I don't need you to," Jack replied, undeterred and seemingly underterrable. "In this genre, the man is the hero, he does all the work. All you have to do is follow my lead. And I am an excellent partner, Lemon. All I really need is a willing female body."

She frowned at him. "I'm not willing."

"Well, you're female and a body. So two out of three will have to suffice. Also, I know I can trust you not to divulge any of my secrets to the opposition. So-" he nodded to his offered hand, "take my hand, Lemon."

She squirmed visibly. "I don't want to."

"Think of it as your price of admission to seeing me crump tonight."

"Augh, you're gonna _crump_?" she gasped, her resistance instantly crumbling at the thought. "Alright! Damn you…you always know how to get me."

"Yes, I do, don't I?"

She pulled her hand back though before placing it in his, instead pointing to the screen where the female dancer was engaged in a deep backbend as her partner clasped her close, his lips grazing her arched, glistening chest. "But I am not – repeat, _not _– doing _that_. Or anything like…whatever that is."

Jack just smiled. "Like I said, Lemon, just follow my lead." And when she gave up her hand, he pulled her towards him. A little too enthusiastically. Causing them to bump chests. Hard.

"Ow!" Liz huffed, her hands rising to her boobs. "Yikes…"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching with both hands towards her chest. "Are they alright?"

"Hey!" She squished her hurt breasts closer, turning away from him.

"Sorry," Jack murmured again, hands dropping to his sides.

Liz shot him a wounded look. "Jeez, Jack! So clumsy…"

"I am not clumsy," he protested, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Well, you're no Fred Astaire."

"Whereas you greatly resemble a stiff, expressionless hat rack." He reached for her elbow and turned her back toward him, feeling her body instantly brace itself. "Could you work with me a little here, Lemon? Loosen up. The Rumba is-"

"I know, I know," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes, "the Dance of Love. I've seen _Dancing with the Stars_."

"Good. Then I trust you won't Kirstie Alley me and take us both down."

"I wouldn't count on it, buddy. I'm heavier than I look. Especially after the three hotdog lunch I just had."

"And the Rumba is not the Dance of Love," he went on, fixing her with a purposeful look. "Done properly, the Rumba is the dance of desire. It's not about soppy, flimsy emotions. It's about the pull between two people. The tangible, visceral magnetism. It's about fire, Lemon. It's about sex."

Liz gulped. "I think I was more comfortable being a hat rack."

"I have no doubt," he answered, voice low. "But nevertheless, let's try again."

Liz began to retreat. "I dunno, Jack…"

He offered up his hand. "I promise to make this as painless as possible for you. And I promise not to wound your breasts again."

"Don't even mention them."

"If you prefer."

"I do." She hesitated, shooting him a wary look before plopping her hand in his with an audible smack. Jack gave it a gentler tug and this time, she landed in his arms, lightly, smoothly, perfectly. Then they began to step around and with each other in a hesitant, haphazard dance.

"So now what?" Liz asked after a minute or two of trying to mimic his footwork.

"Now, we dance," Jack answered simply.

"Shouldn't we…" she glanced about the room, gave a little shrug, "talk a little or something?"

"About what?" he asked, stepping out to one side then around the back of her, his front grazing her back, their arms crossed in front of her body.

"I dunno, anything," she replied, grimacing as she adjusted to this new position. "The weather. The fall schedule. Doing it across the bed instead of up and down. I'm kidding-" she shot a quick look at him over her shoulder, "please don't talk about that."

Jack untangled them, pulling her back into a traditional dance hold while telling her: "Every moment of the day does not need to be filled with inane chatter, Lemon."

"I know," she muttered defensively.

"And right now-" he paused as her feet stepped back into time with his, "our bodies are doing the talking."

"So I see…" Her gaze slid down his body, her expression exhibiting her discomfort. "It…it feels like your hips are trying to flirt with mine."

"Not trying, Lemon. That's exactly what they are doing." He pushed her out from him then pulled her back in, his hips keeping up the same languid rhythm. "Ideally, yours should be doing the same. But I can't say I'm getting much back."

"Well…" Her eyes cut to one side, away from his. They landed on the television but skipped away from the amorous onscreen couple as well. "If you were after hip-flirting then you came to the wrong person, Jack. Much like the rest of me, my hips don't do that sort of thing. I'm not even comfortable being in the vicinity of someone else's that do."

"Is that why you feel the need for us to engage in incessant conversation?" he asked, eyes running over her face.

"I was just being friendly," she muttered, her voice again turning defensive. "Like your hips down there. Which are getting a little over-friendly, if you ask me. Could you back it up just a little?" She tried to pull her hips back from his and only succeeded in tripping herself up on a ridge in the rug.

Jack kept her on her feet though, pulling her closer to him and guiding her to a safer spot of rug. "Do you want me to win tonight," he asked, head tipped to one side. "Or not?"

Liz gave a sigh. "I'm not sure I really care, Jack."

"Well, I want to win. And frankly, your unrelenting need for semi-awkward banter is distracting me from my technique."

"Hey, I can be quiet if I want. You don't need to tell me twice. I know when to shut up."

"Do you?"

She frowned up at him, shrugging one shoulder. "Whatever, let's be quiet. Let's never talk again." And with that, she fell silent.

Jack continued to lead her about the rug, keeping the pace slow and measured, his hands maneuvering her this way and that, the pull between them growing and stretching. The silence only lasted for a few moments though, before Liz broke it.

"Okay, I can't do it," she admitted, eyes lifting to his in desperation. "It's too- please say something."

"I'm going to spin you now," Jack said, utterly unsurprised by her inability to remain quiet, especially under the current circumstances.

"Oh, thank God," she muttered, letting out a breath at the sound of his voice.

"Then I'm going to dip you," he added, changing his grip on her. "So just go with it."

"Thanks for the warning," she said before she was guided into a spin then retrieved by his sure grip and lowered into a slow dip over his knee.

"And now we are done," he murmured, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

The music timed out perfectly, leaving them stranded in silence. But neither moved. They stayed there for an extra moment, frozen in place. Another moment passed and in that extended moment, something seemed to spark, blazing bright but brief across both their eyes, perfectly visible to each other, making their breaths come just a little harder. Whatever it was though was interrupted by the shrill voice of the onscreen instructor. Jack's gaze cut to her mouth, causing Liz to stiffen all of a sudden in his arms and very nearly fall to the floor. But he righted the two of them, steadying her on her feet before pressing a button to mute the television. Then Jack cleared his throat, moved to his bar and poured two glasses of water, handing one to Liz, who sipped at it, anxiously avoiding his gaze. After a short time, when the continuing silence became too much for her, she gave an awkward laugh, commenting:

"Well, that was…_weird_, huh?"

Jack looked over at her, glass halfway to his mouth. "What was?"

She shook her head, pulled a face. "Nothing, I didn't feel anything. Neither- no, nothing happened. Definitely..." She took another sip of water. Then put her glass down, facing him briefly before beginning to shuffle backwards to the door. "Well…! Good luck tonight then. Or break a leg, I guess. Dance up a storm." She punched the air with her fist. "I'll be rooting for you."

Jack took a few steps after her. "Actually, Lemon, I wouldn't mind going through the routine one more time, if you would indulge me."

She stopped, blinked. "Again?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Ah…" She waved a hand at the rug, an uncertain look on her face. "More hip-flirting? More twirling and dipping? More of that weirdness that…didn't happen?"

Jack put down his glass and moved toward her. "Only this time without the running commentary." He halted in front of her. Held out his hand. And smiled a deliberately coaxing smile. "Come on, Lemon. Are you for me or against me?"

Liz sighed, rolled her eyes. "For." Then placed her hand in his as they began again.

_END._


End file.
